


Those Three Years In Between

by WardenFromTheVault



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, Outdoor Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-08
Updated: 2017-08-08
Packaged: 2018-12-12 19:39:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11743806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WardenFromTheVault/pseuds/WardenFromTheVault
Summary: Fenris left Hawke after their one night together without a word of explanation. After the death of Hawke's mother, the mage decides that the only thing that can make her feel better is to be in Fenris' arms again.





	Those Three Years In Between

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time 1) writing any sort of sex scene, 2) posting anything that I've written for anyone to read. Suggestions and criticisms are very welcome, especially since I'm kind of testing the waters here. Much appreciation in advance!

“I want you to fuck me.” The bottle stopped halfway to the elf’s mouth, his dark eyebrows rising in surprise at her bluntness. 

“Hawke…” He started to respond, his expression slowly turning hesitant yet concerned. His beautiful green eyes glanced at the bottle in his hand, at the flames blazing in the fireplace, and even at his bare feet, which were propped up on the small table before him. He looked everywhere, except at her. “You’re dis-” 

“Fenris,” She interrupted, squeezing her staff in her right hand until she could feel her knuckles turn white, “I _need_ you to fuck me.”

Her jaw was set and she stood firmly in the doorway to his room, demanding his agreement. He sat forward slowly in his chair, placing his feet on the floor and setting the bottle of wine down gently. His sigh was heavy, his eyebrows furrowed, and she practically ground her teeth in frustration at the ex-slave’s reluctance to accept her plea. 

“Hawke.” He tried again, growling her name in a way that made her body ache. He rested his bare hands on his knees as he shook his head, trying to find the words he wanted to say. He had removed his armor for the evening and wore only a linen shirt with his usual leather leggings. The crest - her crest - which had begun to recently wear at his belt lay on the table between them, the red band discarded lazily next to it. She glanced at the items momentarily, wondering again why he had even bothered to take them, before her gaze fell upon his long fingers. She stared at them with unabashed desire, remembering how they had felt against her bare skin, and watched as he twitched them nervously.  

Had it truly been just a few short months since he had left her alone in her bed, muttering his apologies and then pretending nothing had ever happened? They had spent that one night together, their union an outpouring of emotions they had both been unable to continue denying. And then had come the sweet nothings, the whispers of affection that had not quite drifted into confessions of love, but she had still felt something… Certainly something more than what he had left her with. And now he sat before her, evidently still trying to convince himself that it had been a mistake.

And yet he had still taken the crest, and the scrap of red cloth.  

“You _know-”_ he began to growl but she silenced him by slamming the butt of her staff down hard. His shoulders tensed and there was a sudden flash of blue light as he prepared for her attack, but she could see from the guilt-ridden look on his face that he would have allowed it to commence without a counter.

Perhaps he thought he deserved it. 

“I know _nothing.”_ She hissed instead, her eyes still fixed upon his slender fingers. “I’ve never asked for an explanation, and I’m not asking for one now. I just… I’m alone, Fenris.” She felt her words catching in her throat and she finally looked away from him, her eyes drifting to the floor. It had been almost a month since her mother had been taken from her, and it still felt impossible to talk about. 

He had come to her then, and had even sat with her for a few days as she attempted to work her way through the pain. Their night of passion had not been brought up, nor had much conversation been had in general. For the most part, Fenris had sat with her and done his best to read from random books Hawke had strewn around her bedroom. Some were fairly difficult reads, and others were about magic, but still Fenris struggled through them, just so that she could lay in numbed silence and listen to the sound of his voice. And then one day, as he stumbled through one difficult passage, she spoke the line from memory, and he had smiled at her. She had smiled back, the for the first time since Leandra’s passing, and then, again without warning, he stopped coming by. 

She would move numbly throughout her home, with no desire to leave despite the newfound emptiness. Her other companions would occasionally stop by, attempting to rouse her from her depression and convince her to at least join them at the Hanged Man, and she knew that soon enough Varric and Aveline would not take no for an answer. . . 

And Varric had advised her, “Think about what you need Hawke, and we’ll be here to see that you get it. We’re here for you.”

Hawke had thought about it, and had come up with only one thing: she needed Fenris. So here she was, going after the one thing she felt would make her feel better.   He could not deny her her comfort. 

“Fenris,” She started again, setting her shoulders and lifting her chin. Finally, the elf looked up and his green eyes met her indigo ones. His pained expression almost made her believe he were hurting as much as she. Almost. “I need you.” 

“I can’t.” 

“Fine.” She turned on her heel, her throat tightening and her eyes stinging. She would not allow him to see her cry - not again. She didn’t think she could hurt any more deeply than she already was, but his refusal had proved her wrong. Her heart ached. Her throat burned. And so she shouted one final retort over the shoulder as she stormed out of Danarius’ mansion, believing it to be the only thing that could possibly hurt Fenris as well. “I’ll just go fuck Anders, then!”

Rain met her as she exited through the door, and the tears striping her face mixed with the warm, heavy drops. She hesitated for a mere moment at the entrance, debating what direction to take to Darktown. She could go through Lowtown to meet with the healer; the weather would make it unlikely that she would run into many people at all during the trek. Or she could go back to her unwelcoming home, breathe in the already-fading scent of her mother, and travel through the hidden entrance in the cellar. She decided to take the former. 

She knew that Anders would agree with her request. He would feign resignation, and make a poor attempt of talking her out of her desire, but she knew that he coveted her. He would believe that he was taking advantage of her during her time of mourning, but she knew she would really be using him. For comfort or to get back at Fenris: she wasn’t sure which one was more important to her at the moment. 

She walked quickly through Hightown on her way to the stairway, her booted feet splashing through puddles and her dark hair clinging to her freckled face. The sound of her footsteps in the rain, her frustrated breathing, and the suffocating thickness of the falling water masked all noises around her, and her focus remained on her destination and what it would bring, not on the dangers that were always around her as an apostate mage in Kirkwall. 

As her right foot moved to take the first step on the stone stairway, a strong hand grabbed her left arm and pulled her back. Her surprised cry of alarm barely broke through the thickened air as she thrown back against a nearby wall, the fierceness of the action knocking the wind out of her. Her staffed flared to life in her hand as she attempted to react, but her attacker easily tore it from her grasp. Blinded by a mixture of darkness, rain and stinging tears, she struck at her unknown assailant, and saw a flash of blue in response.   

_“Kaffas,_ Hawke, what are you doing?” Fenris practically shouted, shoving her back against the wall and scowling, his face mere inches from her own. 

“I was _walking,_ ” she growled in response, struggling against his grip for a moment before submitted to his strength. “There was no need to scare me like that!”

“And if I had been a cultist? One of the carta?” 

“Well then I suppose you would still be doing the same thing you are now - delaying me!”

_“Festis bei umo canavarum…”_ He hissed to himself, shaking his silvery head. His markings glowed faintly in his anger and she was immediately ashamed that she hadn’t seen nor heard his approach. If he had been one of her enemies, she would more than likely have been already dead, or at the very least severely wounded. His next words garnered a laugh from her: “You are not going to see the abomination.”

“You have no right to tell me where I go or what I do.” She smiled cruelly at his glower. “Or who I do.”

He spat out a string of curses and stepped away from her, pacing angrily. She watched him with momentary amusement, watching as the rain caught in his pale hair and dripped down his handsome face. His linen shirt clung to his body, practically transparent in its drenched state, and she could see the faint glow of his markings underneath the fabric. 

She had ran her fingers along those markings once not too long ago, she reminded herself with an aching desire. She had wanted to explore them further, to trace their every curl, but she doubted the opportunity would ever again present itself. That thought burned in her chest. 

“You don’t need this-”

“You don’t know what I need.”

She remained where he had left her, her back against the stone wall. Her thigh-high stockings itched on account of the rain, and her long, belted tunic clung awkwardly to her skin. She usually wore Bethany’s scarf around her neck in remembrance of her little sister, but had forsaken it on this night; that didn’t stop her, however, from noticing that the small strip of cloth Fenris had once cut from her sister’s scarf was again tied to his upper arm. The ache deepened within her. 

He stood still for a moment, his back to her.   

“Don’t go.” The request was spoken just above an utterance and she wasn’t sure if she had heard him correctly at first. “I said, ‘Don’t go.’” He repeated through gritted teeth, glancing over his shoulder with a pained expression. 

“Then fuck me.” She answered with a deep breath. “Right here. Right now. Fuck me, and I won’t go.” 

The man growled, his face twisted in an angry scowl, and she sighed in resignation. She started to move away from the wall and recover her staff, kicking herself for allowing hope to again seep in, but then she saw a surprising flash of blue and he was before, pressing her against the wall once again. His lips were suddenly upon hers, and he kissed her fiercely, passionately. Their teeth clashed; his tongue stroked her lips and fought its way past their defenses until it could dance with her own. 

She moaned. 

“Promise me,” he muttered, breaking the kiss as he issued his demand. 

“Wha-”

“Promise me you won’t go to him.” He demanded again. She met his gaze, the heat pooling between her legs making her feel dizzy. 

“I won’t go to him.” He grasped the back of her neck with one hand, pulling her close for a kiss that told her he wanted this just as much as she did. Their tongues resumed their dance; she reveled in his taste. His other hand caressed the bare skin above her stockings, sliding upwards under her tunic until he gasped against her lips.

There had been no purpose in her wearing smallclothes.

Her lips stifled his groan, but it inflamed her desire all the same. He lifted her up, positioning himself between her legs, and she could feel his own excitement hiding within his leather pants. Her hands were in his hair, on his face, around his neck. She rolled her hips against him, pressing her heat against his still-covered erection, and was rewarded with another deep groan. 

Suddenly, he started to pull away from her, muttering under his breath. 

“Not here,” he croaked through bruised lips. 

“Yes, here,” she responded, gripping the waist of his bottoms with one hand. Before he could react and argue for a less public setting, she quickly undid the laces entrapping the object of her desire and slid her hand into its leather prison. He stilled, his eyes closing tightly as he gritted his teeth and moaned. She freed his cock with one hand, whimpered at how hard he already was, and stroked it as she repeated her demand: “Here. Now.”

She didn’t care if they were caught. She needed him and was through with waiting. 

“Fenris…” She mewled. 

“Elisabet,” he hissed, and a wave of emotion rushed over her. The first time he had used her first name had been that night… 

Her back met the wall once again, and the elf resumed his position between her legs. He didn’t make her wait any longer; he entered her with a thick grunt, receiving another whimper from her lips as her entire body shuddered in ecstasy. He began moving with a quick rhythm she was more than happy to match. Her arms were wrapped around his neck and her hands buried within his hair as she stifled her cries with his shoulder. He groaned into her neck, biting and kissing as he saw fit. 

Hawke was quick to reach her climax, wrapping her legs around his hips as she forced him deeper and deeper inside of her, and she called his name when she came. He followed shortly after, groaning her name within a mixture of Tevene and common words.

They remained like that for what seemed both too long and not long enough, the unrelenting downpour rousing Fenris first. He pulled away from her slowly, not meeting her gaze, and set her down gently. Fenris refastened the laces on his bottoms, the rain cascading from his hair and falling from his pointed ears as he looked down. Hawke retrieved her staff and adjusted her clothing. 

She could feel him still inside her and felt the warmth of his release as it trailed down her inner thigh. She felt suddenly content, the pain dulled at least for the moment. She rolled her shoulders and began to walk back into the depths of Hightown. 

“Hawke!” Her elven companion growled after her, “Where are you going?”

“Home.”

“At least let me walk you!” She heard his booted feet splashing through the puddles as he rushed to catch up. 

“If that’s what you want.” 

They walked in silence, the warrior glowering and the mage practically purring in her satisfaction. Neither spoke another word until they reached Hawke’s mansion, the windows dark and uninviting.

“Everyone is asleep.” Hawke mused. 

“Because it’s late.”

“Yes,” the human agreed and then crinkled her freckled nose. “Next time it won’t be so late. Or so rainy.”

“Next time…?” Fenris questioned, an incredulous look on his face. Hawke opened her door and stepped into the darkness, throwing one final answer over her shoulder as she shut the wooden slab behind her.  

“Yes, Fenris. There will be a next time.”     


End file.
